


Rookwood on Blood Purism

by Silirt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Death Eaters, Deconstruction, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Horror, Mystery, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-16 05:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silirt/pseuds/Silirt
Summary: Captured Hogwarts students listen to the argument of the Death Eaters in late 1996. Marietta Edgecombe, the traitor of Dumbledore's Army, is there to witness it all.





	1. Marietta

Sweat ran on her face, the black cloth around her head stifling the breath from her lungs as she tumbled into a confined space, hearing a metallic slam, an unmistakable closing of a car door- or maybe a trunk.

_Marietta- my name is Marietta._

The witch had been hit with what felt like a clumsy memory charm, blacking out her mind as she tried to calm herself, guessing that whatever frightened mind operating the squirming body next to her was making no such attempt. She knew her hands were tied behind her back, but for the life of her she could not remember how they had gotten that way.

_I am a Ravenclaw. I wore a red hat this morning._

The body next to her was a boy- a wizard, presumably, though she guessed she really had no idea.

_He's probably a student- they wouldn't have kidnapped him- wait, why are they kidnapping me?_

She had done her best to wrong no one in her life, and to that end she avoided situations that would force her to wrong one party or the other. Conflict made her uncertain- it was never like the books she had read. Only once had she allowed herself to join into a conflict, a real one, and it had been at the urging of her friend, Cho.

_Cho Chang- she was braver than I was. My parents told me I was brave. The Ministry told me I was brave._

Beneath her the vehicle took a sharp turn and her bound form lurched in the confined space, pressing against the wizard before the course seemed to straighten and she rolled back, struggling to breathe in the heat under the black cloth over her head. All at once ideas stole into her mind about where they were going, what their captors intended to do, but at the same time there was a strange sense of immediacy with regard to the trip there. Trying to open her mouth, she guessed she had been silenced, probably as a method of disarming her.

_At least I know it cannot be Dumbledore's Army out for revenge. They would have remembered my nonverbal spells._

When she made her choice she made a weak enemy rather than a strong one, but it had a heart that would burn against her with passion, sharp in its contrast with the cold, distinctly bureaucratic regard she might have received from the Ministry. Harry Potter might have the courage to oppose them, but he had no parents, least of all parents in government who had her loyalties on a string. What he did have was a scar, a badge of courage by all accounts, but she wondered if Voldemort gained some cruel satisfaction, seeing a disfigurement on his enemy's face. If he did, it would be a sentiment shared by what seemed to be all the witches of Hogwarts, smiling as they but glanced from the corners of their eye to admire Hermione Granger's handiwork.

_So I have no idea who this is and there remains nothing for me to do._

Sleep would be impossible. The boy was still struggling with his bonds, and to her chagrin, he bumped his elbow into her a few times. She supposed he at least deserved the respect of 'wizard', but in the dark, silenced, hands bound, as far as she could reasonably be concerned, he was a boy. As he turned himself over for what seemed like the thousandth time, now reaching over her to get a hold of her bonds, it occurred to her that for all he knew, she was a girl. Marietta wanted to tell him to stop struggling, but she doubted she could keep him from bullheadedly wasting energy even if she could speak.

_Stop trying to help me. I don't need your help._

The sound of the door- the lid opening was as painfully evident as the light that came through the black cloth, into her open, but blind eyes. Her mind no longer dwelling on how useless, how non-magical she felt without a wand, she was scarcely able to ignore the taunting words of the men who took her up and out of the trunk.

"Up, lovebirds. Got a ways to go after you two; we need the car back for fetchin' the rest of you. No, it's the Floo network from here on out." The silent wizard grabbed the boy first, muttering what sounded like a threat as he dragged his captive through a door and into some small room, from the feel of it. The young witch followed, certain she would be caught if she tried to make a run for it.

_It would be even worse were I not caught. I would still have this thing over my head, no way of reaching my wand if I still have it, and my hands would still be bound._

She imagined for a moment running and readying herself to dodge whatever awful curse was thrown at her, but finding nothing, and realizing why the wizards had absolutely no intention of cursing her. There was no need to do aught but wait for her to turn around and slowly trudge back, if she could even find them. Perhaps they would mock her, perhaps they would similarly decide there was no need.

_They don't need to keep me from leaving. They don't need to insult me._

Going through the Floo network herself, she had hoped to hear her destination, but either the wizard had found some way of using it non-verbally or the very suggestion had been a ruse to convince them they were farther away than they actually were, and she was simply to stand in a fire place as a spell was cast next to her, then get out of the same fire place and be none the wiser. Marietta decided it was probably the first one, as people always seemed to underestimate the strategic advantage of nonverbal spells. She felt the intense heat of what she imagined to be emerald flames before gasping for air and tumbling out.

_It could still be a trick, but that hardly means it is one. The more complicated solution is not always the right one._

A door closed behind her and in the room there was an odd stillness for a moment as one of the wizards left. The boy was next to her, as she would have thought, but she remained entirely unable to communicate and for a moment worried he would try and work at her bonds again. After a few moments of silence, Marietta guessed he believed they were still being watched, which was most likely by her estimation. Whatever purpose held them there, it was worth the trouble of kidnapping her, especially in such a laborious manner.

_Not to mention almost entirely without the use of magic._

She ran through it in her mind, and with the exception of the memory charm and silencing used to stun her, which could have easily been replaced some chemical agent, or worse, hitting her over the head, her captors had apparently decided to do things the old fashioned way. She momentarily entertained the idea that they were worried about spells being monitored at Hogwarts, but whatever authority presiding over the school of witchcraft and wizardry would be faced with a cacophony of alerts and most likely have no idea what to make of it. To her knowledge, no such system existed and it would be an unnecessary and unreasonable precaution to anticipate one.

_They could have used a portkey- why did they not?_

All at once it occurred to her that the memory charm could really have been some sort of chemical agent- as for her inability to open her mouth she could have suffered nerve damage, which seemed unlikely, but was not impossible. The motive made enough sense, capturing a live witch and wizard, but there remained the question of how they entered the castle entirely, how they found it before even that. Marietta was hardly up to date on all the new Muggle technologies, certainly not through her mother, but she had some inkling through movies that there were always newer and more robust ways of finding people, mostly introduced as plot devices.

_No, no, we still need to address the issue of how they got in, even if they found the building somehow. Dumbledore had to have some security measures in place. Intruders, especially non-magical ones, would have no chance of entry._

She remembered in her third year that Sirius Black had overridden that notion, and suddenly she felt foolish. Even if, since Black, the security had been improved, she remembered it being basically at its height, as there was an active threat to the lives of the students and even then he escaped the grounds unharmed. From what she had heard, he possessed no great magical talent apart from being an Animagus, and if a dog could walk into Hogwarts, it was entirely possible the notion of security had been a placebo, convincing the common ruffian that trying to break into the school was not worth the risk, if his trouble. In all probability, none of the incidents that had occurred really should have, and she expected that before Harry Potter attended, the school ran without incident. Matters like giant snake-things attacking people and the Triwizard Tournament being manipulated by a Death Eater were entirely unlikely to the point where she had doubted either of those narratives were aught more than yarns spun by Gryffindors. Even when the actual explanations of injuries, deaths, and disappearances came out, she expected none of them were fully accurate, with Potter and his friends being awarded something of a creative license when they reconciled the facts with their story. Even if they were fully accurate, that Hogwarts had lost only one student in fifty two years, at least to her knowledge, indicated that the faculty and evidently the students could respond to threats effectively, even as they happened.

_Of course none of that stopped me from being kidnapped._

The door opened again and she heard a shuffling of feet as what she guessed was another student was conducted to kneel next to her. The witch smelled of butterbeer and some other fragrance, and all at once it occurred to her that she may have been kidnapped when out at Hogsmeade, the most logical place to strike, with the only security measure being an old squib with a chip on his shoulder and some sort of device to detect dark magic, though it was possible that they too, were a placebo. The girl made some attempt to communicate, but gave up after Marietta chose not to respond to the sounds she was making.

_We're lucky to only be kidnapped- Katie Bell was hospitalized at St. Mungo's._

Over the next few hours, the room steadily filled with Hogwarts students, at least from what she could tell. The boy had tried to speak as the silencing spell was wearing off, and he was simply silenced again. If she had to guess, he would have been a Gryffindor, or possibly a Hufflepuff.

"It appears almost all of our guests are here." A man's voice began. "Of course, you can't remember where you were or what you were doing. Some of you probably think you were taken out of bed, and I imagine your mind has been hard at work wondering how we got you out of the castle. I'm afraid that this is a trade secret. I expect some of you remember nothing up until we put you into the car, and are currently wondering whether we are even magical at all. I assure you that we are, but we believed it was necessary to prove a point."

"And what was that?" Marietta asked, cursing her own curiosity as she revealed she could speak. They were going to find out within a few minutes anyway. Footsteps approached her. She heard the popping sounds as the man lowered himself next to her, feeling his breath in the otherwise motionless room. Sweat ran down her eyes as she forced herself to remain stock still, reminded of a time she might have hid from monsters by drawing the sheets over her head.

"You are not safe."

The words hung in the air for several minutes as the wizard strode out, daring the muted students to question their validity when the task was plainly impossible. Safety itself had been made to seem like some irrational notion of a child's mind, like chocolate milk coming from brown cows or balloons floating into outer space. The other students were audibly squirming, and it was beyond any doubt in her mind that they were all students from the same school, the same place where they had believed, even after everything that had happened, that they could rest easy under the protection of Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age. While Marietta had adored him in her first few years, the Prophet had brought to light much of his inadequacies as the head of Britain's premier magical school. While much of what was said about him was likely sensationalism, it became clear to her that his magnanimity and magical prowess hardly made him the most effective headmaster.

It was also beyond any possible doubt that the men who had taken them prisoner were wizards, despite their methodology. A question remained.

_Why are they trying to make us afraid of Muggles?_

While Marietta was by no means Muggle-born, she had lived among the non-magical for much of her life, and they hardly seemed dangerous. Conversely, she had believed that given the legal permission, she could have easily made a fool out of the boy who picked at her in grade school, but in some selfless determination to follow the rules, she put up with it by practicing nonverbal magic with a toy wand, preparing for some unlikely scenario in which she could use magic and make it look like an accident.

She never implemented any of her plans, from the elaborate to the brilliantly simple, and for that she was grateful. Though she doubted he remembered her, his bothering had stayed with her for years, and it had only been after getting her letter and going to Hogwarts that she realized he only acted as he did because he had a crush on her, but had not yet been mature enough to voice it. The reasoning behind the rule became abundantly clear to her, and she had never again questioned it or been tempted to bend it while on summer holiday. By virtue of possessing magical power that could slip out if untrained, she posed a threat to innocent people, more so than other children, and it would have been easy to do something she would have regretted for the rest of her life.

"Is there anyone still here?" Marietta asked, turning her head but unable to see. _Might as well ask. What are they going to do, silence me again?_ There was no response, but she knew better than to conclude they were not being watched. It was, however, good enough for the witch next to her, who was happy to find that her silencing had worn off.

"Do you know where we are?"

"No." she answered with caution. _Even if I had some idea, I know better than to voice it, stupid._

"Well, I think the Ministry has to know where we are. The Network is being monitored."

"That may be." _In reality, watching every use of Floo powder is a technical impossibility, and for that precise reason, there's talk of restricting the network, especially with all that's going on. For any regular crime, you are more likely to be caught by the Muggle police than by the Ministry._

"What about the school? Do you think they're looking for us?" You were taken from Hogsmeade, you twit. In all likelihood, that's where I was abducted as well. They will not look for us unless we do not return by nightfall, and by my estimation, we are only a few hours.

"To be sure." _Actually, keeping my responses this short is going to start looking suspicious._ "Whoever has done this is in way over their heads. They may have succeeded in taking us prisoner, but they will be found by the Ministry. I think they are aware of this, and will release us to better their chances of escape." After her explanation there was an audible shuffling, as if the students expected something to happen. _I don't believe they'd actually release us any faster just for my suggesting it, but at least it means I think they may still be listening. If their objective is to have us talk as if they're not in the room, they'll have to do better than this to convince me._

The sound of a door closing interrupted her thoughts and drew her attention. The sound of feet was different entirely; quieter, but carrying more weight.

"You don't like this, do you? Not your idea of a pleasant weekend?" The wizard's voice was low, but not gravely as she might have imagined. "You don't fancy being bound. Something worse, though, isn't there?" He asked, possibly expecting the silence to have worn off. "You feel powerless. You feel like children, silent and kneeling." It was undeniable. Like with an article of clothing, no like a part of her body she had grown to not notice having her wand, but not having it. Like a phantom limb, she might have reached for it had her hands been free. After a few painstaking moments, Marietta guessed he was waiting for a response.

"No. We hate this." She said simply, as though using more words would get herself silenced.

"Magic is a part of our very souls, girl. You have learned you have nothing to fear." He started again, not gloating at all. "I suppose that's true. Without magic, we are nothing. Nothing's out to kill us- or worse."


	2. Rookwood

"The greatest threat we face is the same one we have always faced." The first wizard explained at length, though Marietta had not needed any explanation. Though he had spoken in something of a riddle, his warning had been entirely clear. She wondered if the others had pieced it together yet, or if their minds were still fervently trying to understand it all. "They have hunted us for years with impunity, and our only response has been hiding, keeping our numbers down; keeping our heads down. They will drive us to extinction unless we find some viable way of fighting them."

"We're talking about Muggles."

"Thank you, Crabbe." Whispers arose from the silence as the captives heard the name, one they recognized at least in passing. "Yes, that is his name. Mine happens to be Rookwood, but such a matter is neither here nor there."

"You're Death Eaters!" The witch next to her announced, gasping. "What do you want with us?" She asked, suddenly all the more frightened. _I would discredit her for expressing herself, but she has every right to be afraid. You can ask the Longbottom family about that._

"Yes, we are, it is with great regret and shame that we affix that dreadful appellation to our purpose. Bellatrix Lestrange thought of it if that answers any question you may have."

"You don't know who we are." Crabbe stated without affect. "You don't really know about us or why we do anything."

"We know you've killed people." It was a boy's voice, though not one Marietta could recognize. "That's enough for us."

"We had reason." Crabbe began. "You would kill had you the reason. Though perhaps you lack the conviction." Heavy footsteps moved in the direction of the boy's voice. "Harry Potter killed when he was eleven. The Dark Lord had possessed an innocent wizard through one of his horcruxes. Would you blame him?" As there was no verbal response, she would not learn whether or not he approved of the death of Professor Quirrel. She had never thought about it that way, least of all when she heard the story for the first time.

Marietta remembered attending the Quidditch game against Gryffindor in her first year, but she left after noticing the other team was missing a seeker. When she asked around, Padma had heard from a teacher that Potter was unconscious after a daring encounter with some apparition of He Who Must Not Be Named. Upon pressing to learn more, the nameless teacher went on to say that the Granger girl had probably worked out much of the muddle about the Stone on her own, and enlisted the only friends mad enough to believe her to help. Most likely, the challenges placed in the path to protect the school's most valued possession had already been disabled by Quirrell, and then it was just a matter of the three of them surprising him to defeat him. When there were inconsistencies in the account and minor factors that were not explained, like Potter being the only one injured, she found Granger herself.

"Is he alright?" She had asked as the unconscious boy's friend sat next to him, talking quietly. That a few of the boxes of sweets were open did not escape her notice.

"He's only resting. I'm Hermione." the young witch responded, standing.

"My name is Marietta Edgecombe. My mother works at the Ministry." She stated, not knowing why. "I... had heard that you found out where the Stone was." Hermione laughed suddenly, then seemed to acknowledge she might have been rude.

"Oh, I'm not so clever as to piece it together all on my own. I did a lot of the work, yes, but I had help. Really, though, all the books in the world wouldn't have counted if it weren't for my friends. I could never have done it without them."

"I see." She paused, shifting her weight. "What happened to the..?"

"I don't know." Hermione answered. "Professor Dumbledore said the matter was resolved when I asked. He... he told Ron and me that we were the best friends Harry could want. I know a lot of people say things like that, but it seemed like he really meant it. Quirrell is dead. Well, he might have been lost already, but Professor Dumbledore theorizes that Harry managed to sever some connection You Know Who had with the wizard."

"Do you like him?" Marietta asked at length.

"Oh, I'm not sure about all that. But there's definitely something special."

The Death Eaters were thorough in ensuring that she felt the exact opposite of special as they roused her from her memories. The boy who came in with her had tried to work on his own bonds and received a blow to the face.

"It's nothing like the Cruciatus, but it hurts, doesn't it?" He cried wordlessly as he felt another strike. "This is the pain of reality. It's a big and bitter pill, boy, but we'll force it down your throat if we have to. Why is it that Magical England faces no foreign threats?" Rookwood asked. He turned the question to the other students.

"Well, we have good relations..." the girl began.

"With the African Magicians? Russians? Why? What do they have in common with us?"

"A common enemy." Marietta answered. _I'm not so stupid that I don't know where this is leading._

"Precisely. Now, we tell children all manners of fabrications to keep them from learning the truth before they were ready, but at some point, they stopped learning the truth at all. You can blame the Dark Lord for that. He spills magical blood and distracts the Wizarding World from the real problem. Do you want to know why we let him wallow for over a decade? Most of us were glad to be rid of him. He was useful insofar as he was powerful- enough to keep the Ministry off our backs. The trouble was that he never cared about any of us, why we were doing all this- it was all personal to him."

"He was never on the same page." Crabbe started. "He distracted the Aurors. Albus Dumbledore saw through it. He put together a task force to investigate us." She had heard of it. There was talk last year about naming it a terror group, which the Ministry might have done to the D.A. had it not dissolved. "We told him about a prophecy." The Death Eater hardly needed to explain that the real target, at least as far as they were concerned, was the Potters. As her mother did not work in the Department of Mysteries, she was unfamiliar with prophecies except for the incident the previous year in which Potter and Voldemort dueled over one of them, only to end up breaking it.

"He's back, of course, and that's all thanks to his servants, the problem children like Pettigrew and Crouch. With this, we can expect Magical England to be divided once more, but we've taken the opportunity to install our own men at the Ministry, as well as create a task force of our own. You can expect to hear of the Snatchers some time next year." Rookwood explained.

"Are you saying you'd be better off if he were dead?" One of the boys asked.

"Ultimately, yes, once we've established control over the Ministry. Scrimgeour is something of a worst case scenario, throwing us and innocent wizards in prison left and right. We knew how to manipulate Fudge, but there was no hope of keeping him propped up after the news broke that the Dark Lord had returned despite his insistence to the contrary. Ideally, the Minister himself would be one of us, though the actual tasks of governance would be ill-suited to most of us, except possibly Malfoy or Yaxley, who have worked in the Ministry for decades. In all probability, one of them will select a candidate who would suit the public's desire while keeping him prone to suggestion."

"The Imperius Curse is not perfect." Crabbe began, his voice distant, probably focusing on another one of the students. "The trained can detect it easily. Those under the Curse are always unfocused. From time to time, they can't explain themselves. They lose track of their objectives."

"Wait, what do you even want to do? Add hating the Muggles to the curriculum?" This was the boy from earlier, and he was silenced.

"The nonmagical are inferior, both in abilities and in spirit. When something poses some minuscule threat to a few lives here and there, they kill it. Not themselves; they lack the conviction. They value security over freedom, social standing over greatness, and the opinion of their children over that of their ancestors." He removed the cover from Marietta's head, allowing her to see. She drew a deep breath as quietly as she could, noticing that none of the other students were granted the same privilege. _Why? What distinguishes me from the others?_ Deciding it was possible he only wanted to know her identity, she concluded the reason was unimportant and took in as many details as possible. "The tradition in Magical England has for centuries been to allow young witches and wizards to practice freely, as long as they keep from prying eyes. Children were instructed by their parents that their wands were dangerous, but ultimately necessary tools they needed in order to survive. They learned it was a dreadful wrong to spill magical blood, but they must avoid killing Muggles at all costs."

"A dead Muggle means a dead body. A dead body means an investigation." Crabbe interjected. He was a tall, intimidating man, gazing unblinkingly at the boy who questioned them earlier. She was sure he could feel it.

"Even if it can be hidden or destroyed in time, there remains the gap. Family, work, organizations- we had to know his every connection to have any hope of making a victim disappear. If we left out one person, he would be declared mad for remembering a man who never existed. Two people, however, and our entire effort of secrecy is ruined. Paper trails were easy enough to follow in the old days, we could even modify the words on a page if necessary. The trouble was the rise of computers."

"It was when the Dark Lord was active the first time." Even as he was talking, Crabbe was staring intently. "We kept him from killing Muggles. Some said he'd keep them off our backs. I disagreed. He was a powerful wizard, but he would have died and we would be exposed. Muggle armies have automatic rifles and heat vision. Their governments control nuclear weapons. Diagon Alley, The Ministry; even Hogwarts would be exposed. We would have the advantage for a few days. They would learn our tactics. They would kidnap a few wizards. Even in the best of cases, we would last but a month."

"Well if they have technology to help them, why don't you use it?"

" _Crucio."_ The girl's scream might have injured Marietta's ears, but she would never have traded places with her. In seconds she collapsed into a sobbing mess on the floor. The Death Eater raised his wand again.

"Enough, Crabbe. Never call yourself a witch in the presence of my family. How do you think a very small Muggle army does against a large one? Britain is not a large island; more and more square miles of what we have are being monitored. The Muggle government has been actively preventing any hint of an armed rebellion, almost entirely within the span of the twentieth century- Firearms act of aught three, Firearms act of 1920, 1937, 1968, 1988, and they're planning another one- incremental changes every time, not enough to cause a fuss on their own. Each was passed with the promise that the next would never come. Can you imagine the Ministry going around confiscating wands? How we have you now is exactly how the Muggles would want you- blinded, scared, and powerless to resist any further changes."

Marietta presumed the other students paid as little attention to nonmagical politics as she did, though they were perfectly aware of what firearms were. Essentially, Muggles developed weapons beyond the sword in efforts to keep up with the development of other parties, foreign or otherwise. They were not as versatile in their use as wands, to be sure, but as she stared intently forward, avoiding catching the eyes of her captors, she would not have minded having one.

"So if they get their hands on our stuff, we die, but if we get theirs, it doesn't help?"

"Precisely. The strategic advantage of modern weapons cannot be overstated, but even without them, Muggles outnumber us by a vast margin. The ratio was the same in the Middle Ages and they were hunting us like rabbits." _I remember it differently from History of Magic, but what do I know? Nothing that needs a Cruciatus curse to silence._

"I thought-" The voice came from the girl next to her, but she cut herself short.

"Our tricks enabled us to survive here and there, but really we lacked the combative abilities in those days that we have today. Why did you think the witches of old mostly brewed potions and the warlocks stared at the constellations? Illiteracy was running rampant among the Muggles; we were faring little better. Worse yet, we lacked an education system. It took many years to attain the level of expertise the average adult has today. What we have forgotten is that we congregated and educated our children in defensive magic _for the express purpose of fighting Muggles._ Why did you think everything you learn is non-lethal and has a defensive strategy? Try any of that hogwash on Rabastan Lestrange and he'll torture you silly. The name of the course changed since the dawn of the Dark Lord, but the tactics are distinctly insufficient for many of his mad admirers. Tripping jinx, laughter, knockback- these are typical spells first years learn in order to facilitate their escape from dangers beyond their abilities. None of them are particularly harmful, but the more important similarity is that most Muggles would have no trouble explaining it without resorting to magic, even if it seemed to come out of a wand. As students get older, the spells get more dangerous and less subtle- we'll have to thank Harry Potter for instructing some of you lot."

"Wait, you know about-"

"We know." Crabbe answered. "It came out in the _Prophet._ Fudge was on damage control." The Death Eater explained as he finally lifted his gaze from the boy from earlier, as though he had come to some sort of decision. "No one had seen the Dark Lord except Harry Potter. Pygmalion Kirkland wanted to blame him for the other boy. I changed his mind. We need Potter out of Azkaban." He stopped momentarily in front of Marietta, possibly questioning why Rookwood unmasked her. "It made sense to stem panic. There was no reason to believe the boy. Only one wizard did."

Thinking on it, she realized it had probably been difficult for her classmate when no one believed him except his closest friends, though she failed to understand why he expected his word to count against the improbability of a dead wizard coming back after thirteen years. Though she knew why Cho liked him, or why she thought she did, his vocal attitude toward the newsletter would have been unbearable had he not been busier railing against Umbridge, who was objectively an inexperienced hack. When Cho expressed interest in joining his 'study group', the objection she voiced was that Harry was probably more concerned with rebellion than supplementing the curriculum, and that her friend's judgement of him was like to be clouded.

"Well, fine, suppose the Muggles have it out for us. What are you doing?" It was a fair question, and Rookwood seemed to acknowledge it as such.

"Centuries ago, we established secrecy with the intent to develop magical alternatives to ensure our survival. Thus far, the Muggles have only grown more powerful. The Industrial Revolution and the rise of Smith's capitalism have made matters more efficient, driving the population from around six and a half million in the mid eighteenth century to around forty million at the beginning of the twentieth. More food on every table, machines in every factory, and scientific research only pushes them further ahead of us. Since the Dark Lord, the Ministry and what seems to be all of education in Britain have believed our primary threat to be magical. The task of finding alternatives against the Muggles returned to its originators."

"Who?" The question came from the boy next to her, whose silencing appeared to have worn off.

"You'd like to know?" The Death Eater asked. "You could have fooled me. All these years we spend, silently protected from our deepest fear, one the Ministry has ignored, Hogwarts has painted over, and everyone else has forgotten? There are wizards who have been around for centuries, before the Dark Lord, before Dumbledore, before even the Ministry of Magic itself. And yet, the whole magical world seemed content to leave them to it, which was an offense, but a tolerable one as they were at least allowed to continue. They came from the great families, the pillars that support the continuation of magic itself." Rookwood lacked the mocking tone he had taken earlier. He spoke in a low seriousness that would have frightened her had he been staring into her eyes, rather than off into some unknowable distance. "To those who take such a sudden interest, the Blood Purists send their regards."


	3. Graham

From what Marietta knew, Blood Purism was the prejudicial belief in the superiority of magical blood, specifically pure bloodlines. Characterized mostly by snide looks and the occasional muttered slur, it found little sympathy with the majority of students at Hogwarts, who, by her estimation, contained relatively few pure blood students, and most of them were in Slytherin. Draco Malfoy and his associates were known purists, though they were unlikely to lose any friends because of that. Factions had been forming in the school since the supposed return of Voldemort, and the divide had only deepened after the confirmation. Slytherin students who had previously been silent on the issue were becoming increasingly sympathetic to Purism, though whether the reason was that they had simply been hiding it or that they needed to pick a side was entirely unclear to her. Only one of her friends thus far had been a Slytherin, and she might have admitted her interest in him had he said anything, but, as sometimes happens, they simply stopped talking over time. Now and again she wondered whether she had done anything to Graham, or if he had simply lost interest in talking to her. He had been really interested in Quidditch, something she only watched for her friends, and they probably would have never met had they not been fond of the same quiet place in the library.

Graham was an aggressive player, and he simply attributed this to being a Slytherin.

"We want to win, Marietta. You can't get the Quaffle by calculating its mass and it's not against the rules to wrestle it away from other players." He had explained the day after a game against Ravenclaw. She had not been sure of her loyalties that particular game, but as her own house had not won the Quidditch cup in several years, there was hardly a point in rooting for it in her estimation. As far as she was aware, the students who cared least of all about the sport shared a dormitory with her.

In this particular game, he had struck a Ravenclaw boy in the face, grabbing his beater's bat and throwing it, allowing the Bludger to knock him unconscious rather than sending it at a Slytherin Chaser. Later, he forced one of the opposing team into the goal zone, rendering the shot invalid.

"I would hope you would do a more elegant job of obtaining it than a Muggle."

"Wands are against the rules." he had responded without hesitation. "Besides, magic would make it less enjoyable. Using our wits and strength to accomplish something is a refreshing change of pace from everything we have to do with magic." Graham turned a page in the book he was reading, probably unable to focus on its content.

"What exactly is the ratio of wits to strength? It seemed higher for your competitors."

"It doesn't matter what their ratio is if both numbers are lower." he muttered.

"Nevertheless, your strategy seems rather brutish. Don't try to tell me you're not being aggressive on purpose; none of the other teams are."

"Is that all you do? Outwit your opponents?" The Slytherin asked suddenly, closing the book. "Is the only legitimate victory one where your opponent was better in every other way, but you were just more intelligent?" Marietta blinked before responding. _The 'you' in this sentence refers to my house in general._

"I should hope it would be all that is necessary. I highly doubt Crabbe and Goyle would pass the entrance exam if there were one. They're barely even wizards."

"Have you ever considered that if the Muggles knew we existed, they would probably fancy themselves smarter?" The question was relatively unexpected. "Look at all the things they've invented. My cousin stole a Sony Walkman a year ago and it's bloody brilliant." The wizard closed his eyes briefly before putting it as simply as possible, as if she had not understood what he was saying. "Having inferior blood doesn't make you stupid. Look at the Granger girl."

The Ravenclaw did not harbor hatred against the Muggle-born students herself, but simultaneously lacked the intellectual cowardice to dismiss ideas without investigating them. Genetics was not taught at Hogwarts, though she had a basic understanding of it from books. From what she could tell, genetic diversity was only neutral, the incapable brought no traits that were necessarily good for magic. Even with Britain's small magical population, there was no immediate concern with incest, what they had was comparable to a small nation in the distant past. The genetic problems that would result from interbreeding where it was recorded required multiple generations of children from immediate family members.

The Death Eaters were staring at someone who was crying with a faint voice. From her position, it was impossible for her to tell who it was, but she was sure everyone in the room could hear the distress.

"You're just the same as the Malfoys." the younger boy said through tears.

"Stop crying. The Malfoys are great allies of ours." Crabbe ordered. "Did Draco abuse you?" Marietta was no stranger to the Malfoy boy being reported for dueling, though she took no great pains to keep track of his record.

"He calls me... 'Mud Blood'. That's it... that's all he ever says. It's like he has nothing going for him apart from his family." The boy explained. Crabbe snorted with disdain.

"That's what your professor told you about him, isn't it? Don't worry about that. Draco's a prat. He's weak. He won't succeed." _Succeed at what? Is he working with them?_

"I don't care about that." The student argued, having managed to stop crying. "You're the same if you're going and agreeing with him." The Death Eater raised his wand again, but Rookwood intervened.

"There's no need for that. We are ultimately Purists, but that really has nothing to do with Draco being abusive to magical blood. The truth is that he's not particularly good at anything from what we can tell and he's probably jealous of Potter. You'll notice he stopped playing Quidditch after realizing he was rubbish. He's getting it together, but he was basically born thinking everything would work out for him. The Malfoys should probably have had a few more children, though Lucius had his own reasons." He waved a hand at the idea. "It's unimportant. Draco's unimportant. What matters is that this is the truth."

"Magic is a trait." Crabbe explained. "There are no Muggle borns."

"A trait?" One of the students who had not been tortured asked.

"Yes. Magic is inherited. It can't come out of nowhere."

"Then how do you explain it?"

"What do you mean how do we explain it?" Rookwood responded in place of his partner. "When did we decide that magic being randomly generated was the explanation? Have you ever considered you were adopted?" The boy looked back at him strangely. "Eleven's a little young to hear about it- even worse if it's some other explanation." He remained silent for a moment to allow the students to consider possible explanations without having to spell it out for them. While Marietta was unable tell for sure, by the looks of it, one or two of them could not have been older than third years. She was sure they knew about reproduction, but as far as secrets their parents may be keeping from them, thirteen was decidedly young to be hearing about it, even from their parents. _He probably said eleven because that's when their children get the letter. At that point whatever cat was in the bag has to come out.  
_

"Are you saying they are really half?" Marietta asked, piecing it together.

"Pure would be unlikely. Magic is a dominant trait." Crabbe explained curtly. "A pure blood has two alleles that express magic. All of his children will be magical. Muggles are the opposite. half-bloods have one of each." The one witch who could see guessed the others were having trouble with the explanation. There was no biology course at Hogwarts; those desiring to be Healers would proceed to a specialized school to that end. She was hardly surprised Blood Purists understood the concept, she expected even Draco had some familiarity, though she doubted his parents had ever needed to explain exactly why he was more special than other wizards. "Consider this. Half-bloods exist. They can come from half unions, from pure and Muggle, even from half and Muggle, though magical children from that union are unlikely." _I thought it was unlikely you'd use a sentence half so long._

"Is that why you like pure bloods so much?" The question came from another student, possibly one who was beginning to understand why they were there.

"Pure families ensure pure offspring." Crabbe affirmed. She supposed that it was possible for two half bloods to produce a pure blood, but it was also possible that both of their nonmagical alleles would be expressed in a child. _That explains the superlative value of pure bloods. I wonder if any of them have met Professor Slughorn. I imagine they would get along rather famously, though he would insist that the Muggle-borns were quite capable children, despite their disadvantage._ "Half-bloods are the tolerable reality of our current situation." _I'm sure they'll be delighted to hear it.  
_

"Where does that leave me?" It was the younger boy again, insisting the Death Eaters remain on the current subject.

"We don't know." The Blood Purist's answer did not appear satisfactory in the least. "Maybe your father was a half-blood. Maybe your mother. Sometimes they don't know." It did not escape Marietta that he was omitting other explanations. "Met a witch in Dover. Thought she just had a gift." _If it's one of those, the boy will puzzle it out sooner or later. Hopefully not before he's ready._

While she considered herself and was likely considered by others to do more thinking than feeling, the Ravenclaw was no stranger to emotional pain. A stupid, simple thing like walking out of Dumbledore's office with a curse face and no memory of what had happened in there left her feeling lost and confused. Later, she would decide that she had been hit with a memory charm, though it had been one to little effect. While it had most likely been unnoticeable of incantation, it failed to have the probable intended use of making her forget her experience in the D.A. Instead, it left her under a strange mental haze during which she likely responded to whatever they were saying, and which took what felt like hours to dissipate. Marietta remembered feeling eleven years old again as she walked down the staircase alone, having been reminded thoroughly by Dolores Umbridge that she was in terrible trouble and would do well to report to her office as soon as she remembered anything.

She made her way to the library to work, but found she was unable to concentrate on anything. Taking a walk out on the grounds in frustration, she bumped into the Hufflepuff Hannah Abbot and Terry Boot of her own house, who stopped her immediately.

"I challenge you to a duel." Boot said without ceremony.

"I don't accept." she remembered responding, eyeing her surroundings. _Even if I were feeling well, it'll be one former member after the other. I'll pass. I should have passed a long time ago._

"I challenge you to a duel." Abbot echoed.

"Leave me alone." _Why did I let Cho tie me up in all this?_ Careful to keep them from noticing, she crossed her arms and slipped her wand up her sleeve from inside her robes.

"You betrayed all of us." The witch continued, angry. "We thought you were a friend- well, an ally."

"I was Cho's friend. None of you even knew me. I shouldn't have joined your stupid club, and you shouldn't have let me join." Boot looked particularly offended. A small crowd was forming around them.

"Our 'club' wasn't stupid. We were strategically readying ourselves for the coming war from a secure location."

"War? All you did was break a few hundred rules because you didn't like them. There is no war." Marietta found it difficult to remain calm under the effects of the memory charm, and more difficult to keep her face from flashing red. "You're all fools. Terry, you're making the house look stupid."

"You're making us look like cowards. You're making us look like sneaks!" She might have taken a moment to appreciate his restraint in not taking out his wand, but her parameters for justifiable provocation had been muddled at the time. Instead, she saw it as an opportunity to demonstrate her abilities with nonverbal spells, seizing the boy by his ankles and flipping them to where his head should have been. _There's that word again. It had to be that word._

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Abbot shouted, knocking her flat on her back and sending her wand out of her hand. Twisting and rolling, she managed to get hold of it again, casting a Stun at the witch, who blocked it with a shield charm. _Damn you, Hermione._ Still on the ground, she tried levitating Boot with the intent of heaving him at her other foe, but he deflected the spell without drawing and wrestled her wand from her hand. _Wandless magic- limited in potential, but faster in a pinch. Who would have thought._ _  
_

"Don't touch me!" She groaned, her voice muffled by the knee on her chest.

"Oh, it's as if anyone wants to touch you." The other witch sneered, dismissing her shield charm as Marietta rose, brushing herself. Terry seemed to be amusing himself raising and lowering her wand with his own. "Those won't come off, you know. Eloise Midgen tried to curse her pimples off and she ended up in the hospital wing. I collected the Bubotuber pus for the treatment myself."

"Are you _proud_ of that? You're going to end up with Longbottom at this rate!" She responded as she made an attempt at her wand, hoping to grab it while Boot was too busy being angry. "And you call me a coward." she said as the wizard levitated her wand at the last moment.

It was quite impossible to tell which of them was angrier, as both immediately cast knockback jinxes on her, with apparently equal force. As Marietta hit the ground, she noticed the spectators leaving, guessing that it was past the point of an entertaining spectacle and approaching the point of a violent assault to which they might be party by standing idly.

"You think the rest of us weren't scared?!" Abbot screamed. "I was worried Umbridge would catch us _without_ help! Do you want to know who helped me not to be scared?" The witch strode over angrily, her wand pointed savagely. "Neville! He told me he was always scared, but one day he decided he always would be! He's not some reckless fool, he's aware of the die he cast with Harry. He knows exactly what he's going up against." She was crying angrily and made herself stop as she reared back with a clenched fist. Boot held her back with his wand. "He's not forgotten anything. He's not numb to danger. He's the best kind of brave there is."

Lying on the ground as the two of them decided she was less than worth it, Marietta might have appreciated the sentiment toward the Gryffindor, but she was in pain, her head was hurting more than it was before, and she was too busy being fumbling around for her wand, which landed on her. Noticing there was no one around, at long last, she allowed herself to cry.

The Death Eaters left less to the imagination in their succeeding revelation.

Apparently, it had become an amusing pastime among wealth pure bloods with too much time on their hands to seduce Muggle women for the fun of it, modify their memories, and disappear. It was properly regarded as a despicable, low practice, but it went on all the same. In a different light, it made enough sense, as little as she liked it. Pure bloods needed to continue marrying pure bloods in order to continue blood purity, but the main advantage of having pure blood was the ability to produce magical children with anyone, and it made sense to use it on as many of the nonmagical as possible. As heirs, they were like to be under significant pressure, especially when it came to marriage, which was essentially arranged, forbidding them from having any real relationships of their own volition, as witches their age knew they were dead ends. Marietta also imagined that they derived a perverse sense of satisfaction by defying their parents, and from royally screwing over Muggle women, leaving them with children to raise either when they were too young, or when they were already married. This was likely the explanation for many 'Muggle-born' children, who were in need of reclassification in light of their magical abilities. _I suppose that's also a possible explanation as to why Malfoy only had one child- by his wife._

The two Death Eaters had left them alone for a short time, allowing them to consider all that they had heard, though she hardly expected a quiz on the material. It was also possible they had work to do and were simply leaving and providing them with a reasonable explanation, so adept they were at that very act.

Looking around at the twenty or so bound Hogwarts students, she could only wonder what exactly 'reclassification' could entail.


	4. Lockhart

Marietta was beginning to feel tired and hungry, and her knees were in pain for kneeling so long. She noticed one of the girls had managed to contort herself so that she could sit, but she was unable to bring herself to do the same. _I have to keep my head high in this sort of scenario. Even if the others can't see me, the Death Eaters can._ It occurred to her that she had responded remarkably well, despite still being filled with fear at the idea of what Rookwood and Crabbe were going to do to them. _If anything, that is. They kidnapped us because they wanted to explain something. Most like, they will release us. I didn't know that when we were captured, but my mind was to occupied to worry about anything else.  
_

To her knowledge, such was simply her general nature. She concerned herself a great deal with the future, but was no stranger to prioritizing and considered herself highly capable of rational processing, even under pressure. _Everyone's good at something, I suppose._

"Is there anyone who knows where we are?" The boy next to her asked, probably oblivious to the possibility that the Death Eaters were listening in. _Half a hundred charms on the room could do the job. If they're keeping with some sort of theme, they could even use a two-way radio like in the pictures._

"I think we're in a house- a nice one." It was one of the girls. "When they led us through the main area, the floor was a nice tiling. I could feel a fire going." From what Marietta could see, they were in a room specifically designed for holding captives. Not much was visible in the dark, but spikes embedded in the floor were holding them by their rope bonds. _It's easier to maintain than using a spell, especially for all of us. They also wanted us to realize it was possible for Muggles to do this to us._

"That's good, that's good. In that case, it might be one of theirs. Do we know of anyone who lives not so far from Hogsmeade?" She had never kept track herself, but having been led through the fireplace, it was likely that their captors had used the Floo Network without incantation, and as a result they could be miles from Hogsmeade.

"I'm afraid no one does." Someone eventually responded, though it was a new voice, possibly emboldened by the thought of escape.

"That's quite alright. Do we have access to any wands?" _Had Boot been here, we would already be out._

"I don't think so... I'm not sure if they took mine, but if they didn't, I can't reach it." The girl who had been tortured responded. "I can't move around much at all. Is there anyone who can see?" Marietta had no difficulty remaining silent. _Trying to escape could get us killed. Most likely, we'll be released. If I knew anything from being able to see that would help here, I would have already used it._

"That's no different from what I expected. Is there anyone with any familiarity with Death Eaters, Blood Purists, and how they operate?" The question was an odd one, but he was justified in asking it. She doubted there were any Slytherins among them, or there would have been a less compelling need to explain Purism, yet it was too early to discount it as a possibility. Most of the students were wearing Muggle garb, as it was the weekend and they had been out at Hogsmeade, but she suspected that the reason had less to do with preferring such raiment and more to do with having a chance to get out of the school uniform. Adults, including Hogwarts graduates, as most if not all wizards in Britain passed through it at some point, generally wore what they had to depending on where they worked. Ministry employees who took the Floo Network to get to work rarely had to interact with the nonmagical, but there were those among them who worked in proximity with the Muggles, like the Department of Memory Modification and she expected it would be better not to stand out. _Of course, the Blood Purists likely see it as a matter of honoring their heritage._

"I don't think anyone is. They probably wouldn't have taken us prisoner."

"I was thinking there was a chance they simply took us at random." _That's possible. We don't really have any similarities, at least not visible ones. If they snatched us out of Hogsmeade, they couldn't have afforded to be picky._ "All the same, there's no reason to give up hope. Do we remember where we were before we were kidnapped?" Thinking on it, the last thing she remembered before being hit with a memory charm, a sensation she had learned to recognize, was impossible to place. It was not a matter of having forgotten everything she ever knew, she was just uncertain of exactly where she started to forget. _Perhaps that's the sophistication they wanted with the charm. Rather than modifying our memories completely, they made it impossible to remember what it is that we remember. When we leave, they'll most likely hit us with another one, though for a different purpose.  
_

She had learned about memory charms from her mother, who always insisted that she learn them.

"Really, Marietta you will find the memory charm to be a quite effective spell in a pinch. It's how we keep the Muggles from darkening our doors to ask for magical favors all the time." Her father had walked into the kitchen in the middle of her speech.

"Right you are, and remember- you must be careful when using _Obliviate_ \- don't use it unless you need to."

"Of course, father." She responded. It was the summer after her second year, and as she expected her parents would once again not be doing aught with her, the time she had would be better spent in the library, though the only one to which she had access was a Muggle establishment.

"You wouldn't want anyone to end up like that odd fellow, Lockhart."

"Not at all, father." The family had been in the city only a few days ago, when there was an excited affair about transporting the wizard to St. Mungo's, where the Healers would do what they could for him, but had low expectations. Wizarding London had been packed with rapid supporters claiming that Harry Potter had spun a yarn about their favorite author, as well as opponents, who demanded that all his books be examined for the inaccuracies and inconsistencies under this new light. Her parents had been no more surprised to find that the first crowd was mostly women than that the second crowd was mostly men.

Marietta had caught a glimpse of him, and she found him the same attractive wizard he always had been, only this time with an even more radiant smile, waving at everyone who was shouting. _Why can't they just leave him like this? If he's forgotten how to use the memory charm, isn't he harmless?_ The Healers escorting him into the building tried to prevent it, but he managed to enter with a deep bow all the same.

She would later learn that the interest of the law was not to make him harmless, but to restore his memory so he could be properly tried, as his guilt had yet to be determined in court. Though the procedure seemed unnecessary at the time, the punishment for fraud and attempting to use memory charms on underage wizards was not the deletion of one's identity, it was a lengthy prison sentence. It had remained to be proven that Lockhart was guilty of each of his crimes, some of which he may have committed out of insanity or entrapment, and it would hardly surprise her if there were wizards who wrongfully accused him of stealing their accomplishments in his inability to defend himself. Finally, whether he was guilty or not, whether it would change anything or not, he had a right to speak in his own defense, and was unable to do that as a blathering fool. Allowed to speak at his hearing, the Ministerial Court might decide that there were aggravating or mitigating factors in one or more of the crimes he committed, or it might simply decide to exercise judicial mercy on account of something he was able to express.

The procedure and the appropriate respect for it made perfect sense to her, but the one sentence version of 'Fraud's Memory Being Restored- Why?' which made it into headlines did little to explain the decision to avid readers of _The Daily Prophet._ She found it oddly ironic.

The Hogwarts students around her had all but given up looking for ways out, which was essentially music to her ears. Marietta cared little for heroics, especially those simply acting heroic to put on a display. _Of course, at least they're putting some thought into it. If they're not truly heroic, they must have some idea that they will prevail, or at least survive._ Looking around, she noticed a boy seemed to be doing his best to remove the black hood from his head, but his efforts were, thus far, unsuccessful. She had already considered the possibility that her lie of omission would be discovered, but the chance was slight enough that there was no sense in accounting for it.

"How about we all identify ourselves?"

"Let's not." The unmasked witch insisted. "As far as we know, they don't know who we are. They may be listening to this conversation, they may not be. What is the reason you would have us reveal our identities?" _He's probably hoping to find some connection, some commonality to provide a reason for why we were taken._

"Well, if we learn that we would have all been in the same place, we know where the Death Eaters penetrated our defenses." The answer came from someone else entirely, evidently in favor of the idea.

"We don't know that they had to. We might have been in Hogsmeade." _On the face of it, it's only a guess, nothing that would give any doubt as to the effectiveness of the memory charm or the secrecy of their operation._ "Besides, suppose we puzzle it out. Do we want them to realize we know? We're talking too much already." _I'm talking too much if anyone is. They already took the cover off my head, now I'm drawing more attention to myself._

"If they could hear us, wouldn't we have learned already?"

"Not necessarily." Someone answered from the back of the room, sparing Marietta from having to continue. "We haven't really gotten any closer to getting out or anything since they've left. There's no need for them to tell us they can hear us. Once we make some tangible progress, that's when they jump us." The students in the room did not vocally respond. "I'm starting to think that we should really just wait to see if they let us go." _Good boy._ "They haven't indicated they mean to do anything to us, and they're probably thinking that if they don't let us go, we'll be found, which would be worse for them. I don't like it, I don't like any of it, but I'm thinking we should just listen until they're through so they release us."

"Release us? They haven't talked of feeding us to dragons, but they haven't said anything about that- even if they do release us, what might they do first? Don't tell me you're buying this rubbish about secretly being angels."

"Never said anything about being perfect. Probably far from it. Just think they may have been right about a few things."

"Right? Torturing Longbottom's parents to insanity was well-intended? It came from stable minds?"

"That was the Lestranges, all three of them. The Blood Purists-"

"They're on the same side, you filthy traitor. They're not using Voldemort, he's just convenient for them. They can't control him and they do what he says. They haven't even explained _why_ people think there are Muggle-borns if there aren't any." The boy next to her argued, silencing his opponent momentarily.

"Just you wait." The other boy muttered. _Ah. Here I had thought that in their fervor to use non-magical methods of spying on us, they would use Muggle technology. I had not expected an actual spy._ Thinking on it, it was a reasonable plan, planting one of their own, or at least an actor into their midst. No matter how the students in the room managed to look for radios or spells, they would never but suspect the simplest plan of all, hiding among them and reporting on their conversation afterward.

As if they had been waiting, the Death Eaters entered without delay, Marietta expected the other students could hear it. The girl next to her tried to get back to her knees, but stopped moving when one of them audibly stopped while walking past her.

"As you may have expected at this point, we shall now explain exactly how this all fits together." Rookwood began, pacing deliberately. "Why have you been hearing the term 'Muggle-born' all your days?" _That's something to consider, I suppose._ "We don't use it to soften things for children- I should expect them to be proud to learn their true heritage, whatever time the understanding requires. In any event, there is an interest to separate magic from its distinctly genetic origin and of late we have learned its name. They call it The Greater Good, but in reality the name could not be further from the truth. By pretending that magic can simply come out of nowhere, they would have us believe there is no need for us to reproduce at all. They would have us believe that it is impossible for magic to die out. As a result, they treat every concern about the future of magic as paranoia, despite our infinitesimal population when weighed against the Muggles. The logical conclusion to the idea that we cannot, despite our very best efforts, die out, is that our future, as witches and wizards, has nothing at all to fear from the nonmagical." The Death Eater paused, staring over them, perhaps giving the the chance to think.

"Magic is not a mutation." Crabbe began, clarifying. "Mutations are rare. They happen randomly. Their expressions are inconsistent. Magic is a trait. It is passed down consistently in a predictable pattern." _I would expect they've studied this._ "Some say it is a recessive trait. If it were, the magic trait would have already disappeared from Muggles. Probability would favor pure Muggles over time, given their numbers." Marietta expected that many of the students were unsure of what to make of that, not having a background in genetics themselves. Essentially, recessive traits gradually disappear from the gene pool. Two carriers of a recessive gene would half the time produce another carrier and a quarter of the time a non-carrier, but a carrier and a non-carrier would half the time produce a non-carrier. Each generation would produce more non-carriers than carriers, and the more non-carriers there were, the more there would be in the succeeding generation. If magic were a recessive trait, she had even more to fear from Muggles, because the number of carriers among them, if greater than zero, was small and constantly decreasing. Relations between a witch and a pure Muggle, a non-carrier, would certainly produce Muggle children, and though they would be carriers, their future partners being carriers or magical would be incredibly unlikely. As carriers, they would have to lead lives without magic, and almost all of the people in their lives would be Muggles, and almost all of them would be non-carriers. She couldn't imagine a carrier seeking out a carrier or wizard just for the chance of producing magical children, as the most likely result in the event that they had more than one would be having some children who were objectively better than others. _If I were a carrier I would deliberately seek out non-carriers. It would be one thing for magic to go extinct, but having children with unequal potential would be worse.  
_

"For many of us, it is difficult to imagine why The Greater Good would want magic to go extinct, but we pay no undue attention to their rationale. Runcorn is of the opinion that it is simply equality gone insane, that they would make an equal population by ensuring that the superior blood dies out, but the rest of us are unconcerned. If a man is strangling you, it is patently apparent that he wants you to die. I would not expect you to ask why, I would expect you to remove him with a nonverbal and kill him. Torture the truth out if you like, but to be concerned with the rationale is to believe that there could be a legitimate reason." Rookwood walked past each student as he spoke, most likely expecting they could hear his efforts. "As the information regarding Blood Purism and its necessity in the future of magic has been available for centuries, we doubt that this is the result of any misunderstanding or good intentions gone awry. Had they aught other than our destruction in mind, they would reveal their plans, and we would easily defeat whatever argument they put forth. This is not, however, the case. There is an interest to eradicate magic, and as Muggles know nothing of it, there are wizards responsible."

"Who?" One of the students asked.

"This may be difficult for many of you, but the truth often is. Albus Dumbledore is a traitor of the worst kind."


	5. The Dark Lord

She had met the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a total of once before her fifth year.

It had not been any special affair, during her second year she believed she had information regarding the whereabouts or identity of the Heir of Slytherin. Unfortunately, the information had been incorrect. She had been going through the library in search of historical materials, noting the absence of Granger.

"Worry not, Marietta." It had been odd to her that he knew her name. "I fear that matters have become too grave to conceal."

"How long have you known the truth?" she remembered asking. Only after the second attack had it become clear that there was a consistency, and that consistency of paralysis had led them to an incorrect conclusion, as the stare of the basilisk is fatal. It was a wonder that the Muggle-raised witch had been looking in that direction at all, but looking back on it there were few other explanations. Given that the teachers could not recognize the affliction of the victims as any known spell effect, and the resulting probable cause, as unlikely as it was, was a distinct type of magic.

"The truth is a great and fearful thing. I prefer not to trouble students with an old man's suspicions, but there were signs. I believe there is an elvish magic that foresaw the return of an old enemy. Did you know that elves can apparate and disapparate at will in Hogwarts?" Magical creatures were not something she had studied at any point in her life. The concept never interested her, though she remembered a Hufflepuff had once told her that house-elves were another race like goblins, not magical creatures. Marietta asked where exactly the division was, whether gnomes were a race, kappas; trolls. It appeared that if people could reproduce with them, they were another race. _That of course does not mean that they are the same species. Coyotes and Wolves can produce fertile offspring._

"I did not know that, sir."

"I am afraid the Heir of Slytherin is more dangerous than anyone believes." He spoke as though he knew more than he had let on to anyone, like he carried some terrible burden on his tired back. She highly doubted Harry Potter was the culprit, speaking to snakes was not entirely unheard of, but the look of confusion on his face when a crowd of students and teachers found him standing near one of the victims told her more than enough. Second year students were incapable of inducing paralysis that even the teachers could not fix with minimal effort. Granger knew a handful of advanced spells, but really they were beyond what most students read, not the limits of their abilities based on their understanding of and practical experience with magic.

She would wonder for years just how much Dumbledore knew about the Heir of Slytherin.

Presently, however, a student was screaming in pain after a nearly violent reaction to the assertion that the old wizard was a traitor to the wizarding world.

"Albus Dumbledore and his party, Ministry officials, educators, and most likely hidden agents in the Muggle world, have betrayed us all, and it has been as simple as declaring a hundred or so wizards to be 'Muggle-born'. From what we understand through our contacts in the Ministry, his younger sister was savagely beaten by three Muggles, who were then killed by his father, sending him to Azkaban for risking exposure of all Wizarding Britain. Can you imagine it? He lost his father because of what the nonmagical might do to us unless the man were jailed as an example. He discovered the real reason why killing Muggles is illegal, even though they are not citizens of our country, governed by our laws, nor are we by theirs. Had he been sorted into Slytherin like the great Merlin, our house would have made a new wizard out of him. With Grindelwald, he became convinced that the Muggles had to be governed by a magical authority. They had to follow our rules, they couldn't just beat our little witches with impunity, and to accomplish this, he concluded they would be peacefully subjugated by means of powerful magic. We know because the Ministry has access to the letters they exchanged. Either way, we suspect his original intention was to avoid the impugn Muggles from abusing us, as well as the retaliatory action taken in the absence of legal punishment."

"I thought Dumbledore killed Grindelwald." One of the students said as the Death Eater paused.

"He put him in prison." Crabbe confirmed. "The wizard killed his sister. Probably. I was not yet born. He was involved, at least. Grindelwald wanted to protect magic, but he was not a Blood Purist. He was a madman who risked secrecy."

"Why?" Marietta asked, wondering if they knew. Every Hogwarts student had heard of the dark wizard, his exploits that threatened what seemed to be all magical life, as well as Muggles, but it was impossible to comprehend why, especially since he was supposed to have had some noble goal, some end to justify the means.

"The wizards wanted power, from what we can tell. Dumbledore backed out. He wouldn't help Grindelwald. It wasn't enough. He realized he had to stop him." _And from the sound of it, he's been trying to atone for his previous nature ever since._

"Fearing some other dark wizard would come along, he started making plans." Rookwood resumed. "He lent a careful ear to prophecy, despite his usual distaste for the field. The Dark Lord took him by surprise, but that was when he decided he would serve the destruction of magic. Somehow it was better to allow our great heritage and lines to die out rather than allow the dark arts to continue. The first time we fought him, he started pushing new legislation, banning the term Mud Blood from Ministry proceedings, creating an incentive not to use it at his own school. Why did you think a wizard of his potential wanted nothing more than to be a headmaster? Humility, perhaps, but if it is, it's humility gone insane, and that's something we have no trouble believing. Albus Dumbledore believes magic to be worthless, to use his talents to their fullest would be to prove himself wrong." Having been given some time to think, it occurred to her that she knew nothing of the old wizard's personal life, and very little of his views. The Death Eaters probably had enough information from the letters they had read to say what they already had, though she doubted they knew the entire story, and if they did, they took a decidedly interpretive perspective on it.

The witch was perfectly familiar with selective interpretation. In her own experience, students of her house were prone to evaluating each other through interpretation, though this practice was also fairly common in the Muggle world. Padma was especially fond of it, though she seemed to recognize it as utter folly.

"Interesting choice today, Edgecombe." She had said toward the end of the previous year, almost every day. Marietta knew her scars were fading, but the word on her face was still legible. As a result, she had begun to wear a thick cosmetic layer in hopes of disguising it, where previously she had hardly bothered with makeup. "While I do not judge, as those who do only speak of themselves, I can't help but intellectually wonder if you fear for your femininity for some reason unknown to me." The speech pattern was deliberately insulting. Padma spoke with a politely concerned voice, as if to a child, and ignored the obvious reason she was using makeup in favor of an absurd one that properly would require Legilimency in order to determine. Marietta highly doubted a boy her age would want 'sneak' written on his face in pustules, and he would respond to the scars either in the same way she did, as little as he liked it, or make more scars on his face to obfuscate their meaning. The Indian witch had opened by dismissing the response that she was 'projecting', the moronic adult equivalent of the moronic children's retort 'I know you are, but what am I?', and proceeded to diagnose her with 'insecurity', which seemed to explain anything one could want.

Marietta, however, had come into the common room prepared.

"Truly? Perhaps, then, it would be appropriate to voice my concerns, or possibly the lack thereof, however you will." She took a small book out of her robes, having transfigured a blank book and then written in it. "You see, none of your fellow students think you are suicidal, however, the lengths that you have taken to make that clear to us are concerning, and suggest a question of security."

"Lengths?" Padma asked, feigning incredulity. "Whatever do you mean?" While most Ravenclaws acknowledged the rules of rational debate and she was likely just allowing her opponent to continue, Marietta suspected she was giving herself time to think of more material.

"You see, normal, well-adjusted students are known to take long walks along the edge of the astronomy tower, partake in puffer fish, talk about wanting to die, you get the idea. Suicidal youths, however, are quick to cover up such things. It has not escaped notice that you frequently act like you enjoy both consumables and activities, you even seek me out as a target for your favorite thing to do. You'll notice this is a real condition; I have a book written by an expert in the field." she argued, levitating the joke book she wrote toward her opponent.

"Concealing suicidal thoughts? Avoiding suicidal activities? Edgecombe, how exactly do you determine the difference between someone who is not suicidal and someone who is merely pretending?" Padma asked, reading, the joke with the book not at all lost on her. Oddly enough she seemed to enjoy the measures Marietta was taking for the sake of her little game, even though they were not to her advantage.

"Oh, no one was saying you were truly suicidal, Patil, though I assure you it is perfectly okay not to be okay. That question, however, is one of many things that make everyone think you are insecure in your perception of not being suicidal, despite how no one has said you were."

"Of course. I see that the book contains another symptom, most surely indicative of insecurity in not being suicidal- 'Questioning the diagnosis'." the Indian read, amused.

"That is one of the most certain, as someone who is truly afflicted would prefer not to be discovered. Who knows what people might think if they found out you were insecure in their perception of your suicidal tendencies? They might even worry that you were suicidal. Not that anyone thought that, of course. All the same, I remind you that there is always help at Hogwarts for those who ask for it." Appearing to have finished reading the small book which took her little enough time for a speed-reader of her caliber, Padma nodded.

"One would think that whatever great expert wrote this paragon of aid would know much about security in not appearing suicidal, which greatly impresses me, as I was not aware this field existed until only now. Tell me, then, what would the author say is the outward behavioral difference between someone at the pinnacle of security and someone on the verge of suicide?"

"There is no difference." Marietta answered, smiling sweetly, a rare expression for her face. "We're not mind-readers, after all. Of course, that should hardly concern you, since you needn't tailor your outward behavior to match the description of someone more secure than yourself. Such a question indicates you have some pressing need to know."

Padma left without so much as another word.

The Death Eaters unmasked the girl next to her, then one of the students behind her. _Whether or not they realize it, they've kept the others from finding out that I've had my hood off a lot longer than they have._ Silently they proceeded, levitating one after the other. _What concerns me now is that I had expected to have the hood on during the trip back. Either they intend to use a specified memory charm when they turn us loose, or they have no intention of doing so. I have to be ready for something like that.  
_

She carried the one wand, and was incapable of summoning it with wandless magic, which she hardly considered worthwhile. Witches who took such precautions were generally considered paranoid, and this one had never imagined she would actually end up against dark wizards. It was similar to dealing with house fires or flooding in the sense that it always seemed to happen to someone else. When she was younger, she had readily believed that the threat of dark magic was well and truly gone, though it was clear to her that adults were even more eager, having lived through it themselves.

The trouble was, there is really no way to kill an idea.

"I want you all to look at each other." Rookwood stated after all the covers had come off. Looking at the boy next to her, she saw he had long black hair. "You're worth ten of any Muggle your age, but how many armed men do you think you could kill if you had to? Two if you were quick? Half again if you got the jump on them? They're not equal to us, not by any means, but they're very much a threat to our existence. If we mirrored their tactics, we would have a superior fighting force with lower numbers. Our only real hope is to stay in the shadows whilst coming up with a different way of fighting them, something subtle that would weaken them without their notice. I've been in Azkaban long enough to know the Dementors might work wonders against them, but we'll have to seize the Ministry to take control of them. More plebeian machinations involve modifying memories to suggest bad economic policies. Rodolfus says putting a little distance between the boys and the girls will reduce their numbers, and to this end he plans to go to the academics and spin all manners of yarns about nonsensical gender issues. Yaxley has already incited racial conflicts. He killed immigrants and natives back and forth in the seventies until the police hadn't a hope of keeping a lid on it. The trouble with any plan is discovery, which is why we discuss an idea to death before implementing it. None of these plans, however-" he summoned a wand to his hand out of a student's robes. "-will work if we have Albus Dumbledore going behind our backs."

"That's why you have him, then." Marietta supposed.

"The Dark Lord will be instrumental in his death. If things go according to plan, we'll replace your headmaster with as little interruption as possible. If not, it'll be the damnable Carrows and Lestranges again."

"Why do you have them?" she asked, having waited for him to pause before speaking.

"Amycus and Alecto are from a good family and are good Blood Purists. They're also mad, cruel, and stupid. They're less useful than their master, but much easier to control, since many of us can simply give them orders. Likely, they can expect sinecures we need to fill in the near future. The three Lestranges are much worse, but if we killed them, someone else would simply take their place. A dark wizard of their master's caliber can expect to find witless servants eager to do his bidding, so we keep the positions filled with the devils we know. Pettigrew is a coward of the worst kind, and has already outlived his usefulness. He is not long for this world, and likely he knows it. With the passing hour his tasks grow more menial and more suited to his skill level; the Dark Lord probably thinks of him as a house-elf, which is fair, as he resembles one. Crouch has been Kissed. As you may expect, we never had plans to retrieve him. Fenrir Greyback is a monster, and a minimally useful one, but we know how to kill him and we made sure he knows it."

"You have plans to kill him, then." It was another student.

"He's the only one we won't simply toss into Azkaban. If we need to kill the rest of them, we are prepared, but there is no present need. They have helped us, but we intend to restore law and order to Magical Britain and it would be derelict in our duties to allow them to roam the streets. They spill the blood of witches and wizards, too much of it pure."

"The Dark Lord will die." Crabbe added. "We need him for Dumbledore. After that, he dies. We know how he clung to life."

"In 1992, when he managed to attach himself to Quirrel, then a book, something was suspect. We know about dark magic, and we suspect he may have enchanted inanimate objects to keep his soul attached to the world. Draco told us that Potter has been meeting Dumbledore in some degree of secrecy, on the surface to practice Occlumency, but his enemy doubts he's been practicing at all. In all probability, they're coming up with a strategy. Killing the Dark Lord is as much a central objective of theirs as killing Dumbledore is for us, and as a clever old wizard, he's probably figured out why he won't seem to die. There's the prophecy, but there's more to it."

"Are you saying that you plan to kill Vol-"

"After Dumbledore dies, the plan begins. He'll realize what we're doing, sooner or later, but we'll be working separately. If we can get Potter to help us- he won't like it, but he'd never turn down the chance for revenge- we can deal the finishing blow after all his tricks are out of the way."

"We know about some of them." Crabbe supplied, voice heavy and serious. "He had Lestrange put something in Gringotts. We know how to destroy them. I taught my son how to use fiendfyre. He will finish what we started. Even if we die, so will the Dark Lord."


	6. Dumbledore

The Death Eaters had again left the room. By Marietta's estimation, they had only a few hours left before the students would be missed and sought out. One way or another, they would have to reveal their intentions soon.

The other students were less confident, some already intent on becoming Animagi, others attempting wandless Apparation. She knew the latter was possible, she had seen Professor Dumbledore, but that provided no evidence that it was easy. Last year, her former friend Graham managed to puzzle out how to Apparate without having received his license, though his first attempt combined with having used it to escape from the indefinite space of the interior of a Vanishing Cabinet left him injured when he finally succeeded. It was unlikely any of the fifth and sixth years in the room would have any better fortune than he did on the location, and less likely that they would escape with all their limbs.  _That would provide Rookwood with all the hostages he needed. Worse yet, we would have no way of tracking the arms and legs if he decided to wander off with them._

She reminded herself that there were more pressing matters to consider.

The Death Eaters had made a potentially valid claim. There was no question they were right about the Muggles, one had only to take a cursory look at their history to discover how they treated those who were different from them. Their understanding of genetics was probably correct, as the old families had existed for centuries, and likely occupied themselves doing all manners of experiments to confirm the theory they made based on observation. It was clear that the Blood Purists had a stake in what they were saying, but that hardly made it incorrect. She had not known they had intended to kill Voldemort, she had never guessed what they wanted. They took a disturbingly pragmatic approach to siding with him, but might have been right about needing him to kill Dumbledore.

Dumbledore... Marietta doubted both personally and intellectually that they were entirely right about him. They had an extensive interpretation of him based on what she guessed to be his own letters through the Ministry, which had probably started an investigation about him as soon as he became a more controversial figure. She had heard no shortage of criticisms for the wizard from her parents, but as a headmaster she could hardly have asked for better. It would have been intellectual cowardice to regard him as an evil man or one with some hidden agenda when he took the blame from Harry Potter and escaped, without turning it on her in any way. He was a secretive old man, but he had right to his quietude, and even under constant scrutiny by the Ministry, he never gave them any sign of the rebellion they accused him of fomenting, while remaining open about his faith in Harry Potter's testimony. Despite being like to know about Professor Trelawny, he refused to see her mistreated, even though she was being awarded an arguably just treatment as a fraud. He answered their distrust with understanding, their lies with the truth, and their persecution with absolution. The comparison to Christ was impossible to avoid.

She knew nothing of his intentions regarding the Muggle world, but she doubted there was any need to kill him over it. There was no question he was going against the Blood Purists, but whatever plan he had was likely another one of his secret burdens, something he knew better than to reveal. It was possible he would destroy secrecy. It was possible he would try to have magic recognized. It was possible he would integrate the nonmagical into the wizarding world. There was no way of knowing, but there was no way he had ill intent, however dangerous his plan might be.

A tear came to her eyes.  _Now is the time, Marietta. Now is the time for the calculations you knew you were going to perform._

In her estimation, there were around thirty central Death Eaters, witches and wizards of means and cunning. Beyond that, Voldemort was gaining followers. The Ministry had been falling in public trust since Fudge's lies had been exposed, and if there was one thing that was certain, it was that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was to be feared. He likely had no intention of governing anything, but there was an attractive quality to powerful magic and he had other men for the mundane tasks. He could expect to gain a conservative estimate of two hundred followers within a year. Hogwarts had around forty students in every year, but she expected a combined abstinence and defection of six parts in ten for Slytherin, and likely only the sixth and seventh years would be able to fight- not in a small part due to Potter's efforts. She doubted any student would be apathetic, but some would choose not to take sides, like as not hating Dumbledore's radical ideas as much as Voldemort's. The status quo had an appeal to it, and there would be those unwilling to give it up. She estimated their numbers to equal about two parts in ten of the students, leaving thirty four willing and able to fight, along with the teachers. Hogwarts was a castle, but the Death Eaters had mentioned plans to infiltrate it, which would probably be successful. Making use of Fiendfyre, Crabbe would be the most effective before being killed, reducing them to killing curses, which would be dropping students swiftly enough. The teachers were skilled, brilliant even, but they were not warriors and in all probability it had been many years since any of them had used magic seriously, if ever in combat. Wizarding Britain lacked a standing army, the Ministry commanded a police force that would likely be corrupt, or just rendered ineffective, as the Death Eaters had already infiltrated high levels. It was possible the enforcement would simply be given meaningless task to distract it, causing chaos when other crimes spiked unchecked.  _It's probably part of the reason they allow Voldemort to run amok. The threat of terrorism makes people draw closer to authority for protection. Scandals would be ignored. A few hasty promotions would not be the first thing on everyone's minds. Scrimgeour has already made several false arrests and no one wants to do a damn thing. They also can't do much about him. Even if he could be killed, it isn't as if no one has been trying, only to get killed themselves. It makes sense that the Death Eaters would withhold practical concerns about actually going about it.  
_

An attempted Disapparation roused her from her calculations, but she knew the most likely result already. On the floor there was a boy struggling to right himself without the benefit of three of his limbs. The students who were not screaming appeared to be encouraging him or offering advice, none of which she expected he could understand. He made his awkward way to the girl who was sitting rather than kneeling in hopes she could retrieve his wand. A wave of visible discomfort passed over her as she realized she was meant to take it out with her mouth, and it was probably stored in his trousers. Rather than wait for her to decide, the wizard removed her wand from where he could see it in her coat, holding it in his teeth as he used it to free her, burning her rope bonds with what appeared to be red sparks. In moments three or four of them were out, freeing the others, whispering orders back and forth.  _Who would have thought that splitching your arms off could have a positive result?_

The other students freed her despite her indifference.  _There's no backing out of it now- we have to escape._ Drawing her wand, she silently cast a shield charm on the door, imagining it would stall them a few moments before attempting a Disillusionment charm on herself.  _I can't make myself completely invisible- but I'll be harder to hit._ The Hogwarts students were standing at the ready, expecting the dark wizards to return before they could escape. Looking around, Marietta believed she recognized a few of them, at least in passing. To her knowledge, only one among them was a Slytherin, and as a result she expected the Death Eaters had actually selected them as opposed to picking at random.  _It's still possible that we were taken at random, but many of them are Blood Purists. They don't need to be told any of this- though they may not know the reasons for everything. It's also likely that some of them are against it._

Marietta had long held in doubt the idea that the stereotypes about the four houses were entirely accurate, it was improbable that there would always be students of those distinct qualities in even ratios every year, and even less likely that the hat could maintain an even gender ratio after those considerations, which it did well enough. What was more likely was that the algorithm sorted the outstandingly brave, ambitious, or otherwise students as they came, keeping track of evenness. Some would be sorted entirely for the sake of evenness, some for lack of a better idea.

It was evident that Rookwood and his associate had returned based on the sounds they heard coming from the other room.

"What are you doing in there? We were about to take you back, you know." They all shouted at once before one student could be heard clearly.

"What reason have we to believe you? You took us captive in the first place. We're going back, and if you were soon to release us, we'll be on our way." The argument made sense, but Marietta had expected the Death Eaters would take them back rather than allowing them to simply run loose. It would be unfortunate for them if there were true Dumbledore supporters among them and they found out the location, and this was probably within expectations. They may have hoped to convince all of the students, but went in with the reasonable assumption that a few would violently resist given the opportunity, and a few would be merely pretending. What was unlikely was that none of the students would be convinced.  _Of course, it's still possible that some have been. They would have only set themselves to escaping for the same reason I did._

"You didn't have to believe us. We only wanted to take you back blind so that you would be unable to find your way here again. Now we're all in quite the predicament." Rookwood answered. "Did you even have a plan on how to get back?" She expected that they had more than a few plans, only one of which was viable.

"We're going to use the Floo Network."  _Not a bad idea. Even if by some strange chance we did not use it to arrive here, we can still get to Hogsmeade or somewhere._

"You don't have the powder."  _Of course, they're not stupid._ "Can any of you Apparate?"

"Not entirely." came an answer at length. Their eyes were drawn to the boy lying on the ground next to the rest of his limbs.

"You've splitched haven't you? That's how you got out- you need a healer for that, you know."

"Shut up! Once we get back to Hogwarts he'll be fine." One answered, cutting him off.  _Are you trying to convince yourself?_ The one to answer was the boy who had been next to her, the same who had been brought in with her.

"You're not at all more worried about what happens to your friend than escaping?" Rookwood asked, pressing. "You would spill magical blood to get where you need to go? You don't even know that you'll succeed?"

"What if we don't? We'll have to try." All of a sudden a silence fell in the room as most of the students fell, stunned, one by one. The boy spun around looking for their attackers, but failed to see anyone until Crabbe removed his own Disillusionment charm and muttered ' _Finite_ ' in the direction of the door, granting ingress to his partner, eyes fixed on his remaining visible target as the boy whipped around to face him.

"That's the spirit." Rookwood said in a voice that could not have been less spirited. "A pity, though, spirit will get you nowhere."

"What is this? Has he been in here the whole time? Were you watching us?" Rookwood put up his hands as though he had been caught.

"Brilliant, Holmes. Now tell us what happened to your little girlfriend."

"I haven't the faintest-"

"Lost? Confused? Oh, worry not, though she's probably feeling a bit Disillusioned herself." Rookwood joked. "Crabbe?"

"I lost sight of her. The plants are stunned."  _That's something I should have considered._ The Death Eaters had intentionally placed their own agents amid the students, though she decided it would be more disturbing if they actually were students. One way or another, they were easily stunned like the others. All Crabbe did was knock out anyone still standing. Marietta knew better than to move. Her best bet would be to Disapparate, but the contents of the back of her mind kept her from focusing. She held out hope that the black haired boy would bump into her, allowing her to perform Side-Along-Apparation, but it would have been difficult enough to disappear without worrying about him.

"Plants? You had plants among us? Was that why some of them were actually convinced by you lot?"

"Take it as you like it, but none of them spoke once. Agreeing with us would have drawn your attention. We even tortured one of them, though we may have left that out of the job description. What amazes us is that you remain entirely unconvinced."

"You're a bunch of cowards, that's what you are. First you kidnap us- no, first you decide your enemy is Dumbledore, an old man without a powerful friend in the world and you side with  _Voldemort_ because the rest of you can't do him in alone!"

"Having a sense of self-preservation does not an evil man make, Godric." Rookwood argued calmly, turning to the boy who had been splitched. It had been for the best that he was knocked out, else his heart would be pumping far too frequently. "Tell me, though. You seem to believe him inclined to keep secrets in your best interest. He knew about Sirius Black before anyone else, and he refrained from saying a word. Makes sense, in a Machiavellian way- keep the mewling babes from panicking while the cooler heads sort things out. Why, then, did he tell you about the Dark Lord? Ay, there's the rub. The Ministry said the boy's death was an accident. No one would have been blamed, officially or otherwise. Yet your headmaster, who, if I am to understand it correctly, kept the lid shut about a rouge teacher, a big snake, and a sneak-"

" _Petrificus_ -" Marietta's whispered full-body-bind was cut off immediately by Crabbe, who disarmed her before she could complete it. Resisting the wave of panic that passed over her, she realized it had probably been the arm motion that gave her away, as the Death Eater had likely been scanning the room for movement.

"Are you alright?" He asked. At her blank look he turned again. "I don't know why he told us. Maybe he thought it was serious enough to where we needed to know. Maybe he figured we would find out anyway." He paused, wand still readied on Crabbe, who reciprocated as Rookwood healed the splitched boy.

"I remember splitching once or twice. Not something I'd wish on anyone. Of course, we were informed of the risk in advance. I remember finding out about the Muggles, though. It was the day I turned ten. Father figured I needed some time to get used to the idea before being sent off to school. When did Dumbledore tell you about the threat they pose? I'm sure you realize how serious it is- you would also find out sometime as an adult. The trouble is, not only did he not tell you, he invented the term 'Muggle-born' in order to-"

" _Stupify!_ " The black haired boy shouted, not seeming to notice as Crabbe gave him the same treatment. Rookwood simply deflected the stunning spell sent in his direction and resumed healing the other unconscious boy. Marietta noticed that one of the legs was already reattached. She went to pick up her wand, but it was drawn to Crabbe's hand.

"A pity. It was only the both of you that we really wanted. A Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw- and good examples of each. That was why we took you first." He briefly glanced at the boy his partner had stunned. "You had the courage to deny what you were being told. You never gave up hope, and you never gave us an inch. We Slytherins like to think we have a good sense of self-preservation, but even the Dark Lord values temerity." He turned to where Marietta stood, almost entirely invisible. "Now I wonder whether you should have been a Slytherin." he turned to his de facto patient once more. "But then, given the choice between preserving oneself and betraying one's own- well, one of us would have gradually disabled the student secret police and probably poisoned Umbridge if it came to that. No, the old hat put you where you belong based on your perfect little rational mind. You've already figured out where the wizards of Britain stand with the Muggles, haven't you?"

"You... we haven't a chance." She answered, keeping the response short as always.

"You've figured out where Hogwarts stands against us as well?"

"We haven't a chance."


	7. The Sneak

The bizarre haze had returned to her mind, though Marietta knew not from whence it came.

She had woken in Hogsmeade, in The Three Broomsticks from the looks of it. Though she had not been the only one there, early on a Saturday morning though it was, she found she had been the only one asleep or in the process of waking up.

Remembering fumbling around for her wand, trying to dissipate the odd feeling of danger in her mind, she found it where it was at least occasionally, in her outer coat pocket, though she usually liked it where she could feel it and where it was not so like to fall out.  _Was I drinking here?_ She had known better than to walk around asking, her reputation would never recover no matter what they told her, no matter what the truth was. Either way, it was unimportant. She had homework and studying to do, and she was working through a book besides.  _What disturbs me is that this feeling is actually getting familiar._

The witch made her way back to the castle, where she brushed past Hannah Abbot, who ignored her entirely.  _I suppose that's better than openly taking the piss out on me.  
_ The feeling was something similar to waking up after little sleep, but seeing the Hufflepuff made her think of another time.  _I've been hit with a memory charm._ As soon as she recognized it, there was no mistaking it. Her mother had once told her that the difficulty with Muggles who kept having brushes with the Ministry due to proximity suffered what was mislabeled as 'brain damage' when really they were just learning to recognize when they had been subjected to memory modification. It was impossible to perform 'perfectly' unless the caster was skilled in Legilimency, which was mostly unnecessary. In almost all cases, a simple tap to the old circuits was good enough to send the average Muggle on his way a little confused, but none the wiser. Mrs. Edgecombe had expressed doubt that immunity existed, but the brain would get used to repeated input at least to where it could be recognized distinctly.

A witch would learn with significantly less exposure.

As she walked with unexpected haste in the corridor, she slowed herself down so as to not draw watchful eyes.  _I can hardly just ask someone what day it is, but I need to get a frame of reference. I need to know if the idea that I have that it's Saturday is accurate._

"Excuse me, but is there anything the matter?" Marietta turned to see Professor McGonagall behind her, appearing moderately concerned.

"No, professor, I was just planning out tomorrow."

"I see. From you, I expect another day in the library is in order."

"Of course, professor. I was just wondering about the strategy, you know, and my other studies." The sentence construction was awkward, but it passed, and she had no reason to pretend not to be flustered. The Deputy Headmistress disappeared with a word of advice, though it was one that went entirely ignored.

_It's Saturday- what was I doing last?_  For some reason, this was impossible to place, as she might have expected. It was highly unlikely she had been out since before Friday evening, as she would have been notified of her absence.  _Friday night to Saturday morning- where was I? Why would I not remember?_ The obvious explanation did not escape her, but as she neared the library the witch decided that it had to have been memory modification- a sinister one at that, if the strange feeling of fear was worth anything.

Concentrating alone at a desk, she listened for the incantation in her memory, but was quickly drawing a blank. Marietta opened a book on memory modification, but it had not been written for the purpose of recalling specific details, so much as what was actually happening in theory. Essentially, the mind was opened to suggestion, then the user erased a length of time with his own mind, creating a brief mental connection.  _That explains why Lockhart was able to develop the spell such that he could use to 'steal' memories. I suppose that would take some of the effort out of writing novels about other people's experiences, and it's probably part of why his head swelled so._ The mind would be left in a state of momentary confusion, allowing in an advanced form for the caster to inform the subject of his own memories, even if they were counterfactual.  _Mine was not modified- just erased._

There was no apparent data for 'where the memories went' in the book, and she supposed that it was simply because memories do not necessarily 'go' anywhere. In light of her discovery, she would have to redirect her efforts. Finding a text on tracking, she went about learning a few spells.

The witch surfaced in the dark, having already left the castle. Contrary to what the head of Gryffindor might have thought, her load of homework was lighter than it had been, though the notion did not enter her mind as she strode across the grounds, a black sky of stars above her. Leaving the range of whatever complex spell kept her from Apparating, she felt the sense of danger returning as she disappeared in the night. Hogwarts was quite literally a protective bubble, and the feeling of it was not at all lost on her.

Hogsmeade was different at night.

Marietta had been there a few times after dark before, but those were the days of Dumbledore's army, when she had been wiled into taking a side in a conflict with no desirable end. Now she was alone, and the reality became all the clearer as she cast the tracking spell on herself, making her footprints stand out amid all the others. Casting a Disillusionment charm on herself, she followed her own steps, noticing that they simply stopped inside the local book store, shining a dim light through the window.  _I never left- well, not by foot. It is possible I Disapparated, but not likely. What probably happened was that I left unwillingly._ From the sign on the door, the establishment would have been closed by that time, and both her presence in there and her exodus likely went unnoticed. Following two sets of larger footprints back outside, she found a place where a Muggle automobile could have been parked. Wizards mostly used Apparation for personal transportation, but business owners frequently needed to transport quantities of goods and were for one reason or another unable to complete the task without the technology.

Casting a specialized tracking spell on the oil left on the ground, she had an idea of where the vehicle went. As she readied her wand to Apparate in the appropriate direction, she paused.  _Why am I doing this? What do I expect to find? What do I want to find?_ Her wand arm went limp as she thought about it.  _Why am I going toward this feeling of danger? I'm not in the D.A. any longer. It doesn't exist._ She remembered the feeling of losing hope, but failed to place it. Instead she focused on the girl who cursed her as she disappeared again, the witch who left her face covered in acne, Hermione Granger, who named her the sneak.

She had been all business in the library the day she met her properly, handing her a leaflet regarding the slavery of the house-elves in Hogwarts and elsewhere in Wizarding Britain. It was a rare sight that she did not treat the silence of the library with the same reverence as always, studying away in her preferred section.

"Sorry, I would prefer not to get involved with either side of that sort of thing." Marietta said simply and truthfully out of respect. She had no wish to take sides on the issue, as Granger had yet to amass any significant degree of support and would likely continue that way until she gave it up.  _Really, I'm doing you a favor._

"That's it, then?"  _Oh, I struck a nerve. Perhaps I should apologize after hearing her out._ "I remember you, you're Marietta Edgecombe. I had been hoping you would be interested since you had likely already been exposed to the chattel slavery, but evidently not."

"My apologies, I had no wish to offend you-"

"I'm afraid it hasn't anything to do with how you said it. At least my friends don't lack the courage." Granger whispered, annoyed.  _I'm perfectly aware that by remaining neutral, I'm demonstrating how I'm nothing like you._ The other witch set to walking away, probably in the interest of canvassing others.  _At least she knows better than to waste her time. Oh, wait, no she doesn't._

The point of Marietta's quill might have snapped had she not caught herself bearing down harder in frustration.  _Calm down, Marietta. We know why she isn't in Ravenclaw now._

To her knowledge, she gave up the pursuit of house-elf rights as predicted.

As she escaped the confines of Apparation, the witch opened her eyes to the sight of an older looking house that might have been grand in its day. There was no one around, not for miles as far as she could tell.  _Whatever happened here, it's done._ Looking around for her own magical footprints, she found what looked to be drag marks from where a car might have been parked, then her feet led in through the front door. Inside she found they lead almost immediately to a fireplace in the reception, where she guessed the Floo Network might have been used.  _If it has, there ought to be a record. I shall check with the Ministry's-_ All at once something was missing. There was no powder, nor was there any evidence of scorching. The switch was hidden with minimal effort, likely out of the expectation that no one would ever look for it. Activating it, the wall behind the fireplace moved as she ducked through it.

The room in which she found herself was larger than expected and visibly a room where prisoners were held, and had been recently. The captives had been confined by what appeared to be metal hooks in the floor, not placed there recently but having been there as an original and permanent fixture.  _Just who built this place?_ Ancient portraits decorated the walls, though they were difficult to see in the dark.  _And for whom did they build it?_  Marietta produced light from her wand without speaking.

"I remember you. Why have you returned?" The voice came from within the dark portrait, though the speaker was invisible to her.

"Did someone cast a memory charm on me?" She asked, stepping closer.

"Perhaps. We pictures remember little outside of our own lives." It was a woman's voice, older, but not by any means ancient. "We are not people, as surely you see. Else we would be atrociously offended by the neglect of wizards."

"I know how it works." Marietta responded. "It's an enchantment performed by someone who knew you. They give you a memory long enough that you can mimic conversation." She had read about it a few years ago.

"Oh, but much and more of what I recall is not my own memory. My younger brother committed me to this wall with the very best of his ability, and what I know comes from him. He never wondered whether he truly knew me, but from what the others overheard, I wonder from time to time. Then I forget."

"Why are you telling me this?" She cast the purging spell to clear the portrait of its clouding. "I want to know what happened here." The painting laughed as the face was revealed to be a noble countenance, red hair around an angular face, pure blood running through the veins in the eyes that contracted as they saw light for the first time in decades.

"You don't know? I tell you because we are the same, you and I." The voice stopped laughing. "Very well. Before casting a memory charm, my dear relation of some sort told you that he would take you back and ensure you would never realize anything had happened. I expected you to return as little as I wanted it. You see, I consider you a reminder of what I am. Once I was a person, but my dear brother represented me as he truly remembered, against the wishes of our parents. I am a torture device- and of the very highest quality as I myself am tortured." The portrait laughed, amused at its own suffering. "Here you are looking to reclaim your lost memories- surely you know that they are gone? They do not simply return to your mind when you see the same things again."

"Do you plan to tell me what happened here or not?" Marietta asked, forcing herself to retain her composure. "Unlike you, I'm capable of more than talking and forgetting things." she added, feeling a strange sense of pride.

"I misremember. Perhaps you should be more concerned with the purpose of your exi-"

" _Incendio!_ " The figure in the portrait failed to scream as it was being burned. "Funny, can't imagine a purpose for yours." The witch said as she turned to leave, content that the flame would either burn out shortly after destroying the painting, or destroy the entire house.  _Either is acceptable, really._

Whatever had happened the previous night, it had already come to pass and there was no way of undoing it. From the sound of it, nothing serious had happened and she had already checked for curses. There were no active or passive magical effects to her knowledge and it occurred to her that there was some chance she had simply seen something she was not supposed to see.  _If that's the case I really couldn't care less. I'm not interested in finding killers or whatever it was I saw._

The witch made no particular effort getting involved in matters that did not concern her, especially of the dangerous variety.  _I learned my lesson about taking sides- turning coat is even more foolish most of the time._ After confessing to Umbridge and the Ministry, she was forced to confess under the influence of truth serum in the pink-walled office. Seeking to deprive the old hag of her favorite torture device, she intentionally constructed the story to make it as difficult to believe as possible, forcing the Inquisitor turned Headmistress to use more and more Veritaserum from Professor Snape's stores. It was Marietta's understanding that most of the students Umbridge interrogated had nothing to tell her, and thus she used the potion to force them to reveal their unrelated, but decidedly interesting secrets.

That particular appointment on the behalf of the Ministry had given her significant pause about the wisdom of the institution, and the voters by extension. She had some degree of sympathy for the old wizarding families, but that went only as far as was reasonable. Questioning authority was not the same as rebelling against it, as some authority would always exist, and toppling one usually involved allowing another to install itself. It was the Ministry's newspaper that gave her pause about the headmaster, but it was not as though she trusted the  _Prophet_ completely. At the same time, she had harbored some degree of suspicion against him as long as she could remember, suspecting him of influencing the curriculum.

It was not in her nature to have unfounded suspicions, but in her mind they were somewhat better than unfounded trust, and therefore tolerable.

When she returned to the castle it was already time for bed, but she decided to bathe all the same. The Ravenclaw girls' dormitory had long since been enchanted to include an impossible space room in what was originally a closet, the interior of which was a nice bath with a full mirror. If she understood correctly, the boys had an armory with magical artifacts like an invisibility cloak and a shield charm hat from some less than distinguished but no less than successful Hogwarts alumni. Despite their tolerating distaste for her, the rest of the Ravenclaw girls made the same expression that she did when they found out about it.

The water was hot, and her pale skin reddened as she bathed, doing her best to be efficient. Though steam rose from the water, the mirror managed to stay clear, likely as a result of an impervious charm. Her face was visible in the reflection, the eyes staring straight ahead. Her face was the same as it had been, the letters across it declaring her betrayal of the Defense Association.  _SNEAK. Anyone can read it; though the boils have faded the white scars remain. Now, as my skin turns red from the heat, the letters shine out all the clearer. What a disaster, should someone walk in and see me, I might actually be covering my face. Of course, that would do little to conceal my identity, whatever small modicum of comfort that might have been._ It occurred to her to start bathing under a Disillusionment charm, but she failed to remember whether she would be visible in the mirror or otherwise.

Preparing for bed at last, she remembered her upcoming essay for History of Magic, the topic for which occurred to her as naturally as leaves to a tree. It was something she had studied for quite some time, though in some capacity had known her entire life, and of that she could be sure enough. Climbing into bed, she settled on a title detailed to functionality, but not long to exhaustion.

_On the Diminishing Perception of the Muggle Threat- Marietta Edgecombe._

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who read this; I appreciate any comments you may have, even if it's been years since I originally posted the story.**


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